


Rendezvous

by ficbear



Series: Gunsel [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Sex, Beating, Bondage, Breathplay, Dom/sub, Fight Sex, Fingerfucking, Handcuffs, M/M, Older Man/Younger Man, Oral Sex, Organized Crime, Polyamory, Rough Sex, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-12
Updated: 2012-12-12
Packaged: 2017-11-20 23:42:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/591016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficbear/pseuds/ficbear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another rush of bravado gets its claws into me, and I snort with laughter. "A night in a cheap hotel? Some treat, boss." I can hear the sound of people shouting and police sirens wailing outside, wafting through the draughty windows as I'm talking, and the sound just makes me laugh again. I walk over to the window and lean against the sill, picking at the peeling paintwork. "Romantic, too. You're really spoiling me."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rendezvous

For weeks he keeps me at arm's length. Running errands, delivering messages, sometimes just waiting where he tells me to wait until some lackey turns up and says I can go. Half the time it isn't even him I take my orders from, it's just a phone call from one of his underlings, barking instructions at me like a drill sergeant. It winds me up, but at the end of each job there's a nice thick bundle of notes pressed into my hand, so I don't complain. If he wants to pay me silly money to do jobs some idiot kid could do, fine.

But I lie awake in the night sometimes, drunk on the high-quality stuff I can afford these days, thinking about that night in the alley. The bruises he gave me have faded now, but I can still remember the taste of him, the feeling of his hand gripping my hair, his gun pressing against my temple. The thought gets me hard every time. So I lie there and take care of myself, trying to enjoy the memory for what it is: a pleasant memory of something that's over and done with. But my mind keeps coming back around again and again to the same question. _Why isn't he fucking me?_

So when the phone rings late at night, and it's another one of those interchangeable subordinates, I'm polite but not overly impressed. And then the voice on the other end of the phone says, the boss wants to see you. I'm on my feet and reaching for my jacket before he's even finished talking.

 

* * *

 

The hotel is cheap, really cheap, nasty enough that by the time I've stepped out of the creaking lift I've convinced myself that this is going to be just another assignment by proxy. Why would my boss, my very generous and obviously wealthy boss, bring me to a place like this? So I knock on the door, bracing myself for another boring night, and stand there dumbstruck for a moment when it's his voice that tells me to enter.

I go in, and before I've even laid eyes on him I've got that familiar urge to make trouble, the one I always get in situations where I really, really shouldn't make trouble at all. I close the door behind me, and take a look around the room. The place is as dingy on the inside as the outside, and I can't resist scoffing at it.

"Never figured you for a cheapskate, boss." I say, turning away from where he's sitting at the rickety table. Yeah, I really shouldn't let my tongue run away with me like this, but then again, so what if a bit of backchat _does_ get me fired? I'll just end up where I was a few months back, only now with a bit more money and some nice memories. So why not? Why not push the old man and see how much lip he'll take? I turn back towards him, and start unzipping my jacket. "Anyway, isn't this a waste of my skills? If you wanted a quick hookup in a cheap hotel, there are plenty of boys you could have picked up off the street for that."

I'm expecting a smack, or at least a sharp word, but instead my boss just watches me, stony-faced. Okay, so it'll take more than a little bit of mouthing off to rile him up. Fine. I drop my jacket on the bed, and come over to where he's sitting. There's a hefty bottle of something dark on the table, and an almost-full glass just sitting there, so I pick up the glass and drain it in one go. It's sharp and hot, some kind of whiskey, and if I was a more cultured boy I could tell you what kind, but all I know is it burns my throat on the way down, so maybe I've got no business complaining about the cheapness of the hotel. I lick the last of the drink from the rim of the glass, flashing a bit of tongue at the boss, and give him a smirk.

"Nice of you to pour me a drink." I say, setting the glass down. "But you could have saved your money, a beer would have got you the same result."

Again, nothing. Just that hard, cold stare. His eyes are like granite, and that should make me back off, but does it? Does it hell.

I start unbuttoning my shirt briskly, holding his gaze. "Well, if you want cheap, I can do cheap. Where do you want me, on the bed or on the floor?"

There's a pause, and then he turns away to pour himself another drink, and this time I think I've really done it, he's going to throw that whiskey in my face and make me eat the glass too. I brace myself, just standing there with my shirt undone and my hands hanging uselessly at my sides. But then he turns to me and just _smiles_. I've never seen a smile that frightening. I was turned on when I got here, but now I'm uncomfortably hard, and I can feel the denim of my jeans stretched tight across my crotch, displaying quite clearly to the boss how much I'm enjoying this. I might as well be naked.

"You've been a good boy and earned your pocket money," he says, pausing to take a sip of his drink. "So tonight I'm going to give you a treat."

Another rush of bravado gets its claws into me, and I snort with laughter. "A night in a cheap hotel? Some treat, boss." I can hear the sound of people shouting and police sirens wailing outside, wafting through the draughty windows as I'm talking, and the sound just makes me laugh again. I walk over to the window and lean against the sill, picking at the peeling paintwork. "Romantic, too. You're really spoiling me."

I hear the boss get up from his chair, but I don't bother looking around, not until he's right behind me and his hands are gripping my upper arms, pulling me back against him. The contact makes my skin sing with excitement, and I push back against him instinctively. It's like I can't control my body when he's this close. I certainly can't control my tongue.

His hands tighten around my arms. "Look, boy, I'm a busy man–"

"Well then," I say, interrupting him – not just mouthing off now, oh no, now I'm _outright_ _interrupting_ him. "If you're in a hurry, let's get on with it."

I unbuckle my belt, and my fingers have just started working the buttons of my jeans undone when he spins me around and smacks me hard across the face.  My first instinct is the put my fists up and try to fight back, but as reckless as I am, I'm not stupid. I haven't forgotten how badly that went for me last time, so this time around I figure I'll be smart and wait for the right moment.

"You hit harder than that last time. Are you pulling your punches, or are you just tired tonight?" I grin up at him, rubbing my jaw. "Maybe you should lie down and rest, let me do all the work."

That smile again, cold and hard. He steps back, looking me up and down, and I can feel his eyes all over my body. On the muscles of my arms and legs, on the bare skin of my chest and stomach, on the blatant hardness of my cock straining against the denim of my jeans. I can feel it as keenly as if it were his hands on me, and that's the moment I feel certain, absolutely certain, that I'm going to get what I want. I open my mouth and take a breath, just about to start up the backchat again, but before the words can leave my lips the boss lays into me, and there's no holding back this time.

The back of his hand comes down across my cheekbone, making me stagger. His other hand comes up, balled into a fist, and he plants it right under my ribs. I stumble back a little, trying to buy time, and then I think I see the opening I've been waiting for, so I swing a punch of my own, aiming for that cold smile. I miss, of course I miss, and my fist just brushes the edge of his chin, just enough to feel the faint scratch of stubble against my knuckles. Then he really goes to town on me, and I can't keep track of the blows any more.

I ricochet around the room as he beats me, sometimes lashing out to try to land a hit myself, sometimes putting my arms up to try to block him, sometimes just letting the blows rain down on me, just drinking in the pain and the impact. Staggering into the walls and furniture gives me bruises even in the places he hasn't touched, and now my body throbs and aches and stings all over, but most of all it burns to be touched. So when the boss grabs me by the hair and throws me face down onto the bed, the excitement in the pit of my stomach coils up tightly and I can't help but grind against the cheap mattress, hungry for any contact I can get.

He laughs, and I brace myself, convinced that this is it. This is the moment I'm finally going to get what I want.

And then I hear the door open, and the boss orders someone into the room.

I crane my neck to see what's going on, just in time to see the boss going back to his seat while the new guy closes the door behind him. I think I've seen this one before. He looks older than me, though nowhere near as old as the boss, and he's got a nasty-looking scar running up one cheek. I've definitely seen him before. And by the look he gives me, he's seen me around too.

Two at once, I think to myself. Okay, sure. I can do two at once.

"Get to work." The boss says, as casual as you like, lighting up a cigarette as he watches his lackey advance on me. "And don't go easy on him, Joe."

"No chance of that, boss." Joe laughs, takes off his jacket and loosens his tie. "Looks like you've softened him up pretty well yourself, anyway."

I've just about decided that I don't like Joe very much, when he leans over and grabs me by the hair. "Come here," he says, as if I've got any choice, and drags me toward him.

I put up a bit of a fight, pulling against his grip, just to see how much force Joe's willing to use. I get my answer quickly, with a hard smack across the face and then a swift backhand straight after it, and my cheeks are stinging as he shoves my head down against his crotch. So it looks like this Joe doesn't mess around. He holds me in place with one hand and unzips his trousers with the other, and he's definitely an old hand at this, because before I know it Joe's cock is halfway down my throat and that hand in my hair is hauling me up and down, forcing me to take more and more each time until my face is pressed flush to his groin.

I'd rather it was the boss's cock I was sucking on, but as disappointed as I am, I'm far from immune to Joe's attentions, so I reach down to fumble my jeans undone and wrap my hand around my own cock. Joe doesn't miss a thing, and he yanks my head up. "You love it, don't you?" He laughs that deep, awful laugh again. The shaft of his cock rubs against my cheek, wet and heavy. "You should be paying us for the privilege, not the other way around."

I look up at him, giving him my best _so-what?_ stare. "Are you going to talk, or are you going to fuck me?"

He's pulled me back and slapped me across the face again before I've got even the slightest chance to brace myself. He might be easy to rile, but he's fast, and strong, and I reckon I'm going to end up regretting this if I keep pushing.

"Plenty of time for that." Joe says, slinging me down onto the bed so that I land hard on my back. His hand goes for my hair again, and this time he drags me right to the edge of the bed, lining me up at just the right height for him to slide his cock back into my mouth. He fucks my throat deep and hard now, barely letting me breathe at all, and when I choke and cough around his cock it just earns another one of those horrible laughs, probably because he can see the way my hand works faster and faster over my own cock every time I start to choke on his.

When he finally pulls out and lets me breathe, I lie there panting for a moment, expecting to get a faceful of come. After a minute or so, I realise nothing's happening, and I push myself upright only to see Joe advancing on me again, and this time he's holding something silver. Handcuffs. Heavy-duty ones, too, not some flimsy knockoffs. I struggle a bit against his grip when he takes hold of my wrists, but there's a lot less fight in me right now since I'm still trying to catch my breath, and he's able to cuff me easily.

"What's the matter?" I say hoarsely, pulling against the chains of the cuffs. "Worried you can't handle me without a bit of extra security?"

He drags me off the bed, and with my jeans tangled around my knees like this I can't do much about it, so I land awkwardly on the floor at his feet, scraping my thigh against the bristles of the cheap carpet. Joe hauls me up to my knees by the chain of the cuffs, and gives me a look that says very clearly, _you've earned every minute of this_. And I'd like to pretend I feel even a little bit of regret when his hand comes down across my cheek, when he yanks me back into place by the hair and does it again, when he starts to really whale on me, because I know damn well that if I hadn't been running my mouth he really would just be fucking me now. But instead I'm kneeling here, taking each blow and still wanting more, clumsily rubbing my bound hands against as much of my cock as I can reach.

The sound of another drink being poured catches my attention, and I look over to the boss. The old bastard is just sitting there enjoying the show, looking at me like he knows exactly what I'm thinking, like he can see right through me, and that's when I decide that if he's not going to touch me himself tonight, then I'm going to make damn sure he regrets it.

I turn my attention back to Joe. "Alright, alright," I say, in between slaps, putting my hands up like I'm surrendering. "So I gave you some cheek that wasn't strictly called for. You can smack me around all night if you want to, it's not like I'm going anywhere. Or…" I pause, licking a trickle of blood from the corner of my mouth. "You can let me make it up to you, let me prove that I've learned my lesson."

"And you have, have you?" Joe laughs. "Or is it just that you're such a little slut, you can't go five minutes without a cock in your mouth?"

I grin up at him. "Bit of both."

Joe obviously appreciates a show of honest enthusiasm, because he sits down on the edge of the bed and crooks a finger to beckon me over. I crawl to him on my hands and knees like a good boy, and when I settle between his legs I make sure I'm bent over at just the right angle to give the boss a nice view of my ass. "Let me suck it again," I say, not quite begging yet but definitely asking nicely, and I rest my fingers on the fly of Joe's trousers, waiting for permission.

And then all of a sudden his hand is around my throat, squeezing tight.

"Do you think you're here to get what _you_ want?" Joe says, low and nasty enough that I worry for a moment that he's going to keep on squeezing and squeezing until he's choked the life out of me. "You're here to do as you're told, you little punk, and don't you forget it."

When he throws me to the floor, it's a relief. I might be face down on the carpet and gasping for air, but at least I'm still breathing, at least I'm not wrong after all about the game I'm playing here. At least it _is_ still a game. So I stay where he threw me, just watching over my shoulder, not making any attempt to move. Not until he's close, until he's kneeling right behind me and busy coating the fingers of one hand with lube. Then and only then, I twist around and lash out with my bound hands, determined to land at least one good hit before I really do give it up.

Joe bats my hands away like he's swatting a fly, grabs the back of my neck with his dry hand and pins me down with seemingly no effort at all. I struggle a little against his grip, just to show him I'm not beaten yet, and then his fingertips slide down between the cheeks of my ass, and suddenly I can't think anymore, and there's nothing in my head at all except the feeling of those fingertips rubbing and circling and stroking.

"All that tough-guy bravado, but you're really just a cock-hungry little bitch, aren't you?" Joe says, pushing one finger into me, and all I can do is groan. He gives me a few thrusts of that finger before he pushes the second one in, and then the third, and that's when I really start to lose it, pushing back onto his hand and squirming when his fingers hit just the right spot. The hand on my neck tightens. "Aren't you?"

I nod, trying to answer, but I can't manage much more than a pathetic moan, and the part of me that's still coherent is watching all this from a distance, shaking his head at how easily I've been put in my place.

Joe's fingers slide out of my ass, and before I can open my mouth to complain, he hauls me up onto my hands and knees and pushes his cock into me deep and slow. I should be thankful he went in slowly, that he's not going to leave my ass as raw as he's left my face. I should be quiet, I should give myself a minute to adjust, and I definitely shouldn't provoke him to be any meaner than he already intends to be. So I look back over my shoulder, smirking enough to make my cut lip sting, and say, "Can you move me over to the bed? You know, in case I start dozing off."

He hauls me upright and hooks one forearm across my throat, letting me feel how easy it'd be for him to just cut off my air altogether. "Keep your mouth shut, boy," Joe says, close to my ear, "or I'll put you to sleep myself."

He's a pro at this, I'll give him that. He's got me positioned so that I'm facing the boss, so that the old man gets to watch me clumsily stroking myself as best I can with my wrists cuffed, choking when that forearm presses down and gasping for air when it eases off, squirming back against Joe to try to force him to fuck me harder, tensing up each time his cock hits the right angle and shoves me a little closer to the edge. It shouldn't be happening this fast, but I'm so keyed up that I get maybe a dozen strokes in before I'm suddenly bucking and yelping and shuddering like an overwhelmed teenager while I paint that cheap carpet with my come.

I slump forward a bit, letting Joe's arm take some of my weight, and look up at the boss. He's still sitting there with a drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other, watching like he's in the VIP seats at a prizefight and he knows he's backed the winner. He doesn't even need to say a word. He just gives Joe the nod, and suddenly the arm across my throat is gone. Joe shoves me down, pushes my face into the carpet and holds me in place, and now, _now_ he ups his pace and starts giving me the hard fucking I've been pushing for all night. And he's made his point, or the boss's point, I suppose, because all I can do now is kneel here and take it.

But even if I'm already spent, I've still got a point of my own to prove. I want the boss to understand exactly what he's passing up here. So I give it my all, squirming and moaning as Joe pounds into me, laying it on as thick as I think I can get away with. I arch my back and grind against him, telling him how good his cock feels in my ass, demanding to be fucked harder and faster, begging for his come. I groan and whimper as if being fucked is the best thing that's ever happened to me. And all it gets me is Joe's hand clamped tight across my mouth, shutting me up without so much as a word from him, squeezing hard enough that it makes the bruises on my cheeks sting and burn.

Well, maybe it gets me a little more than that. Joe starts to come pretty much as soon as his hand has covered my mouth, and he doesn't sound happy about it at all. He groans and calls me names that I don't quite catch, but I get the gist, so I bite down on his palm for good measure. Something to remember me by.

A few more strokes and Joe stops moving inside me, takes his hand off my mouth, and pulls out straight away. I should have learned my lesson by now, but I'm too stupid not to hope for a moment that maybe now I'll get what I came here for, so I push myself up to my knees and look up at the boss.

The old man finishes the last of his drink, and looks right over my head. "Get him out of here, Joe."

Joe does as he's told, and manhandles me to my feet, uncuffing me and shoving me out of the door before I've even fastened my jeans. He doesn't even look at me as he slings my jacket and another bundle of cash at me, and before I know it the door has slammed in my face. I stand there for moment, my mind blank and my head spinning, and then finally the chill of the hallway wakes me up enough to at least put my jacket on and make my way to the lift. I shove the money in my pocket, and give the door of the hotel room one last look before I leave.

"Yeah, 'night to you too, boss," I say under my breath. But I know no-one's listening.


End file.
